


Redren, I May Have Made a Mistake

by agaybloodmage



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M, in my defense it was au day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 03:49:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17635463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agaybloodmage/pseuds/agaybloodmage
Summary: Dragon Age AU where it's all a Live-Action Roleplay.Have you ever wondered what their world would be like if all the Origins characters were just bored, twenty-first century nerds? Well, wonder no more! Featuring OCs, LARPing, lesbianism, and a whole mess of cliches and dumbassery.





	Redren, I May Have Made a Mistake

**Redren, I may have made a mistake.**  Texts like this were never good. Coming from Leliana, they either meant that she burnt a cake or that she broke a leg. One could never tell.

_What have you done?_ Redren write back, setting aside his current project.

“Who is it?” He heard Morrigan ask from the back of the room. They were currently in his basement along with Alistair, one of their mutual friends.

“Leliana,” he sighed. “She’s been typing for a while so I’m going to assume it’s nothing good!”

His phone vibrated in his hands, five messages coming though at once.

**OKAY SO I MAY HAVE MET THIS REALLY NICE GUY THE OTHER DAY, OKAY? ANYWAY HE WAS CHATTING ME UP, SAID MY BUTT LOOKED GOOD, ALL THAT STUFF. ANYWAY, HE WAS REALLY NICE SO I INVITED HIM TO STARBUCKS. WE WERE OUT GETTING COFFEE TODAY AND HE ASKED ME WHAT MY HOBBIES WERE AND**

**OH SWEET BABY JESUS I SAID THAT I WAS GOING TO LARP THIS WEEKEND WITH MY FRIENDS (AND MY GIRLFRIEND, SOMETHING HE SEEMED COOL WITH, EVEN IF HE SEEMED A BIT CONFUSED AS TO WHY I ACCEPTED A WEIRD SORT OF DATE THING) WITH SOME OF MY FRIENDS AND OF COURSE HE HAD NO IDEA WHAT THAT WAS BECAUSE HE’S HOT,**

**NO OFFENSE, DUDE. ANYWAY THIS MADE ME END OF HAVING TO EXPLAIN WHAT IN THE LORD’S NAME LIVE-ACTION ROLE PLAYING IS TO A REALLY HOT SPANISH GUY OVER STARBUCKS COFFEE AND IT WAS REALLY AWKWARD BUT**

**HE SEEMED TO BE INTO IT???? I DON’T KNOW BUT ANYWAY HE LOOKED GENUINELY INTERESTED AND I COULDN’T SHUT UP SO AAAAHHHH**

**LONG STORY SHORT I INVITED HIM OVER I’M SO SORRY**

_are you kidding me_

**No.**

Redren sighed and put down his phone, falling back onto the sawdust covered carpet.

“God,” Alistair muttered, looking over at Redren sighing on the floor. “What did she say?”

“She sort of accidentally invited someone to go to Moondust with us,” he said, rushed.

“What a  _fool!”_  Morrigan cried, raising her staff above her head in mock agony. “Oh, ‘tis truly a horror! We are exposed!” She snorted and set down her staff.

“It may be funny to you, but she mentioned he was attractive and now I’m nervous!”

“Hey!” He heard Alistair whine. “Am I not attractive to you?”

“You’re my friend, Alistair, our token heterosexual! I don’t know this guy! And she mentioned he was  _Spanish!”_  He lamented his head tilted back to look at his friends. Morrigan had gone back to applying another layer of paint to her homemade staff, shaking her head in amusement.

“What if you ask her to ask him if he’s available to come over tomorrow?” Redren sat up and stared at Alistair. Alistair blushed a bit in awkwardness before he explained. “I mean, he needs a character, and maybe we could whip one up tomorrow before the weekend?”

“Lord,” Redren exhaled, “I’ll text her. I thank God every day for your ideas, my friend.”

“Should I be offended, or…?”

_Leliana._

_Do you have his number?_

**Yeah, why?**

_I need you to text him._

**Tell me what you want to say and I’ll send him a screenshot so I don’t have to worry about messing up and any typos are on you~**

_Fine, fine_

_Okay, attractive mystery man, as you may know, you have been invited to one of the most embarrassing social gatherings on the planet. I am wondering if you are available to come over tomorrow, any time between noon and one am to_

_work on preparing you for one of the strangest things you’ve ever been invited to._

**Sending it!**

It took only about two minutes for him to respond.

**_Greetings Leliana’s friend! My name is Zevran Arainai, and I can say with certainty that anything you invite me too will not be too strange for my tastes~!_ **

**_If Miss Leliana here is available at noon, I can be as well, although I cannot stay after nine pm. I work, shall we say, night shifts? Haha, well I am excited! What your friend described sounds VERY interesting!_ **

**_~Z ♡_ **

_Lord, he sounds… interesting._

**Oh he is.**

“He’s coming over at noon.”

“Nice! I’ll be over after work, so, like, four? Duncan said he’s closing up early. Doctor’s appointment,” Alistair replied, setting his pain-stakingly well made latex sword. He worked at a local hardware shop under Duncan, who was incredibly nice when it came to a bunch of twenty-somethings asking to use his machines when the shop was closed. He was sort of like Alistair’s pseudo-dad, and was happy to let them use the machines as long as he was supervising. He had no idea what they were doing, but he was happy to watch from the sidelines. A confused smile and a thumbs up were his go-to resources.

“Morrigan dear,” be heard his grandmother, Wynne, call out from the top of the basement stairs. “Your mother just called the house phone, and she said you need to come home!”

“I am twenty-five,” he heard her mutter as she put all of her art supplies back on the table she used as storage.

“And she said that if you mute her calls again, she’s coming over herself to collect you herself!” Morrigan’s mother was incredibly  _odd,_ for lack of a better word. She ran a tiny shop that specialized in herbal medicine she brewed herself and other miscellaneous items of witchcraft. Redren found the whole thing fascinating, but despite being a pagan witch herself, Morrigan couldn’t stand her mother. She still lived at home and helped with the shop which was housed on the first floor of their home.

“Remind me I need to splatter-paint that in case I forget!” She said, grabbing her backpack by the stairs. “I’ll sneak out at two, so I’ll be over at quarter after!”

“See ya!” Both Redren and Alistair called out after her. About half an hour passed until Alistair glanced up at the clock, noticing the time. 9:30 pm.

“I’ve got to be home by ten,” he sighed, “so we should probably start cleaning now, huh?”

It took about fifteen minutes to get everything put away, with Alistair departing after one of his bone-crushing hugs.

“Again, four o'clock!” He reminded, a dorky smile on his face. “Don’t want to leave you alone with Morrigan, Leliana and the new guy!”

“God bless you, Alistair!” Redren laughed, waving him goodbye as he grabbed his satchel from the basement railing.

As soon as he left, Redren put his music on the Bluetooth speaker and set to work, breaking out the vacuum for probably the first time in three months. Bits of sanded off wood were all but ingrained in the carpet, so it took quite some time to get even the smallest portion of the dust out. He wanted this place as clean as humanly possible, as having a guest over, a supposedly attractive guest at that, was a good motivation to actually clean. The added distraction of his boxer bolting down the stairs to howl at the vacuum just made the job that much harder. Redren could only pray that Zevran didn’t ask him what the overgrown puppy’s name was, or else he’d have to admit that at age twenty, he’d named a boxer Dog. Hopefully Zevran had a sense of humor. Eventually he moved to attempt to scrub at the cement floor where Morrigan had been quite  _relaxed_ with her painting. A red, smeared handprint is not a very good sight for making a first impression.

The only place he didn’t clean was their paused game of  _Dungeons and Dragons,_  a sacred place that nobody disturbed unless they wanted to lose their hand. Dog was circling his legs, excited at the prospect of going to Moondust for the weekend. There, he was a proud warhound who got to roll around in puppy-friendly red paint to his hearts content and chase any rabbit he wanted. Everyone loved him there, and over the two years he’d been going with Redren he’d become a bit of an icon. Redren had been personally LARP-ing for six years, ever since he was sixteen and Alistair, eighteen at the time, had noticed him sketching a self-insert sorcerer in his chemistry notebook. The dork had struck up a conversation with him, and ended up talking about how he and his older half-brother Cailin went up once a month to Live Action Role Play in a medieval village called Moondust. Redren and him had become friends quite quickly, which was pretty handy, as Alistair was on the Rugby team, so a lot less people were tempted to bully Redren like they usually did. He was an androgynous gay teenager with red hair to his mid-back. As soon as he went to Moondust he knew  _that_  was where he belonged. He ended up running a blog for it, posting all about his little adventures, truly excited to be a part of it. He ended up meeting Morrigan there. She was three years older than him, making him the baby of the group. Leliana, her girlfriend, was two years older than him, and an older sister if anything.

“Redren!” His grandma Wynne called from the top of the stairs. “Don’t forget you have work tomorrow!” Her tone meant that she didn’t mean it as a mere suggestion to hurry up. He put away his cleaning supplies and headed up the stairs, Dog on his heels. He collapsed into bed after giving Wynne a quick goodnight kiss on the cheek. Despite being a bit of an overbearing busybody sometimes, she was a good grandma, taking him in when his mother died when he was five. She owned a little restaurant called “The Circle,” that specialized in breakfast food. He was mainly just a waiter there, and the staff was fairly small. Irving, a man that technically retired five years ago did much of the finances for Wynne. Probably because he was bored and good with management. His childhood friend Jowan and his wife Lily also worked there with him. Really nice, average people of you didn’t count Jowan’s fascination with the medical world. He didn’t have the funds for med school, but that didn’t stop him from knowing every artery, vein, and capillary in the human body.

Redren nearly fell asleep in his jeans. Cleaning was much more exercise than he usually did. He began to think about Zevran, and how he still knew  _nothing_ about the stranger that Leliana had invited over. He worked nights, it seemed. Redren couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like. _If he was Spainish, he must be tan, right?_ Redren looked at his own corpse-pale hands and laughed. Lord, was he British!  _Was Zevran’s accent strong? Oh, how tall was he? What would he roleplay as? An elf? A human warrior, or a mage? Or was he really tall, a Qunari, perhaps?_ The mixture of anxiety and excitement twisted his stomach in knots. He buried his face in his pillow, taking deep breaths. It was no use worrying, it’d happen either way. Eventually, he settled to sleep. Nervous. Very, very nervous.

 

* * *

 

His morning was like any other. He said hello to Jowan and Lily when he walked in at six am, and set to work taking orders from the steady stream of customers. The Circle was actually popular, but unfortunately, every morning, a loud group of the Rugby players from the local High School, the  _Templars_ , would waltz in like they owned the place. More than once he’d been called “sweetheart” or “tits” from the back, so it made the experience worth it.  _The looks on their faces!_  It’d almost become a hazing for the new kids on the team. As well as alcohol and running laps, there was the shaming of the androgynous homosexual test. _Ah, the fragility of their masculinity!_ Alistair had once belonged to their order, but due to his sweet personality, such a sin was forgivable.

Rolling up an American pancake and eating it like a burrito, he watched the customers and thought about Zevran. _What was he like? Leliana mentioned how he tried to pick her up by talking about her arse… Lord, what was this man?_

Eventually, his shift ended, and as soon as the clock struck 11, he was out of there. He took a quick shower, actually scrubbing his hair for the first time in what, a week? His hair was always a mess, but this time, he took the time to blow dry it, carefully brushing it out. He even made sure to put it up in a  _neat_ ponytail, his bangs covering his honest to God unattractive eyebrows, and brushed out the two long locks of hair framing either side of his face. He threw on his working shirt, an old orange tank top, and his working pants, a tight pair of blue jeans. Both of them were stained with paint, making the combination the official “Working Outfit.”

He was just setting up in the basement when he heard the doorbell ring. He straightened out one of the chairs at the _D &D_ table, and ran upstairs. He was too late. His grandma Wynne had already opened the door, and he felt his stomach drop as she introduced herself as “Grandma Wynne,” adding on “Oh! Are you one of his friends? I haven’t seen you before!”

“Grandma!” Redren whined, his face heating up. “Please leave them alone!”

“Am I embarrassing you, sweetie?” Oh, she was so doing this on purpose! “Fine, fine, I’ll leave you alone!” She strolled off, a smug little smile on her face.

“Uh, why don’t you come in? I’m Red…ren…” He finally got a look at the man standing next to Leliana. _Lord was he short! He must’ve been what, 5'2"? But, God, was he cute!_  Redren noticed the tattoo on his face, and couldn’t help but stare at the smooth lines on tanned skin.

“Already rendering you speechless?” Zevran’s voice was smooth and heavily accented. _Beautiful!_

“Come in,” he smiled shyly, moving out of the doorway. Zevran and Leliana slid their shoes off, following him down to the basement. “Sorry about my grandmother, she’s a bit much!”

“No, no,” Zevran laughed. “She seemed lovely! And she had a wonderful bosom!” Redren turned around, his eyes wide as he saw Leliana and Zevran muffling giggles.

“God, want did I get myself into?” He sighed as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Lord Almighty!” Leliana’s voice was a mix of a laugh and a gasp. “I’ve never seen this place so clean!”

“Why can’t I just try to make a good impression?” He sighed. If anything, he was hoping Zevran wouldn't think he wasn’t as much of a mess as he really was.

“So this is your base of operations?” He asked, his eyes wandering around to look at the back wall covered in paint, replica latex swords, staffs, and armor. All hand made, too. “Impressive!” Redren smiled at that.

“Thanks,” he said, heading to the back. “So, Lels, given any thought to his character?”

“Damn, I haven’t!”

“That’s okay! I have!” He turned to look at Zevran. “You know, just based on appearance, you strike me as an elf!”

“Is that a compliment?” Zevran asked Leliana.

“Yeah!” She nodded. “Elves are noble and beautiful creatures!”

“Oh, I enjoy that  _beautiful_  part!” Zevran laughed, sending butterflies straight through Redren’s stomach.

“Oh, I can totally see it!” Redren’s mind was racing with possibilities. “I could braid your hair! Oh, that’d look good!” He heard Leliana and Zevran sit down on the carpet as he opened up a desk drawer full of assorted accessories. He pulled out a pair of elven ear extensions he thought would match Zevran’s skin tone. He turned back around and set the objects against Zevran’s skin. _A perfect match!_

“Oh! Should we explain this stuff more before we delve into character creation?” Leliana laughed. Redren blushed, embarrassed at his excitement.

“Probably, yeah.”

“I’ll start. So, I’ve already told you about the very basics of LARP-ing, like, how you go to a camp-type place and act as a character for a weekend.” Redren sat down next to them, so that they were sitting in a triangle of sorts. “I, personally, play as a former bardic assassin, turned Church sister, turned adventurer! I’ve been going to Moondust for eight years!” Her smile was quite proud, full of love for her character. “I’ve been developing her for a very long time!” She turned to Redren. “Why don’t you explain your character?”

“He’s a mage, and a really powerful one at that!” Redren grinned. “I’m a blood mage, which means I can manipulate a person’s blood to my will! I can also summon demons, but that’s not a very good idea, because there’s too high of a chance it could backfire!” He laughed. “Unfortunately, blood magic is banned, so I was nearly executed for it!” At Zevran’s concerned look, Redren explained further. “I went to a mage’s guild trial, and I nearly went to the stake, but fortunately, Morrigan stood up for me, protesting that blood magic could be a valuable asset in battle, so they decided to let me live!”

“This seems like  _quite_ some world!” Zevran marveled. The fact that he actually seemed interested was amazing, most of the time, people disregarded him as a complete freakshow when he mentioned Live Action Role Playing.

“Well, what we need to do today is design a character for you, which means background, armor and weapons,” Leliana explained. “So, why don’t we base him off of you? It’s always easier to play a character that’s a part of yourself!”

“What would you like to know?”

“Job, what your majoring in, those things!”

“Oh, you’re in college?” Redren asked, hoping this meant Zevran was his age. Then again, Leliana was in college, and she was twenty-four. She was in a music program, as she was wonderfully talented with the flute. She’d put off college for two years, so she was in her final year now.

“Yes, but I must admit it took me a while!” Zevran laughed. “I finally joined the University of the Arts last year! I’m getting my acting degree. Although it means I won’t be out of college until I’m twenty-eight!”

“You’re twenty-five?” Redren asked.

“Yes sir! And you’re, what, eighteen?” Redren’s cheeks heated up in embarrassment.

“He’s actually twenty-two,” Leliana whispered.

“Oh! You truly have a youthful face!” Zevran laughed. “But as for what I do as a job, I must admit the club I work in is, eighteen and over,” he smirked, seeming to enjoy as Redren’s face heated up further. “So innocent!”

“Oh, hush,” he mumbled.

“Anyway, as for a background, I came to this dreary country of yours last year from Madrid, Spain.  _Dios mío,_  do I miss it!” He laughed. “It’s too cold here!” Leliana laughed in agreement, as she would also often lament how Avignon in her native France was so much better than London. Zevran ended up talking about how he’d grown up in a brothel, eventually getting a job at a strip club when he turned eighteen, and had saved up enough to move to London last year. Redren hung onto every word, and felt like he could listen to his voice forever.

“So, any fancy ideas for my character?” He laughed, startling Redren out of his trance. “Or would you prefer to gaze at my lips a few moments more?” Said lips were curling into a smirk as Redren hastily looked away, his ears red.

“A few ideas, yeah,” he mumbled, standing up to grab a notebook and a pencil. “So, we need a name for Spain. Any ideas, Leliana?”

She hummed in thought as Redren sketched a blank human outline on the paper. He could feel Zevran looking over his shoulder as he added on fingerless gloves, a black leather skirt paired with a matching top. Shoulder pads and wrappings around the elbows were added as well.

“So, Zevran,” he asked as he sketched in some shoulder-length hair, “you don’t need to answer if it’s too personal, but what was the name of that club you mentioned?” Tiny braids and ears were added.

“An interesting question, dear Redren!” He laughed. “It was  _El Cuervo,_ which translates to  _The Raven._  Why would you like to know?”

_“The Raven’s_  too pretty,” he mused, “but…  _The Crow!”_ He smiled, jotting down  _The Crows_  next to the drawing. “How would you feel about being an assassin?”

“An assassin? Sounds fun!”

“What about Antiva?” Leliana piped up.

“Any meaning to it?”

“Nope, but it sounds pretty, doesn’t it?”

“Alright,” Redren nodded, writing down  _Antivan_ next to the character. “Since this world’s countries’ names are so boring, we come up with new ones; France is  _Orlais,_  Britain is just one called _Ferelden,_  and now, Spain is  _Antiva!“_

"When Leliana mentioned this, I have to admit I was interested, but as you explain further, I find myself more and more eager! And for someone like myself, this would certainly be good acting practice, no? Staying in character for a whole weekend is a challenge, isn’t it?” Redren was actually surprised at how excited the man looked. Personally, it had taken Redren a good couple of months, about four weekends in total, to feel comfortable with the LARP-ing community. Zevran, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have any sort of anxiety regarding the idea. He was happily brushing his hair back with his fingers, allowing Leliana to place the medium-length ear extensions on him. He opened up his phone to look in the camera, marveling at how well they matched his skin tone. He snapped a quick selfie and set his phone back in his pocket.

“I have arrived!” They heard a voice call out from up the stairs. Morrigan had finally managed to come over, meaning it’d been just over two hours already. She shuffled down the stairs, backpack slung over one shoulder and a Styrofoam container of leftover pancakes in her hand. “Your grandmother insisted you were fed,” she tsked. She hung her backpack up on the peg by the stairs, and set the food down by the edge of the _D &D_ table for later.

She took a long look at Zevran, raising a perfectly maintained eyebrow. “I presume you’re the one who said my girlfriend’s arse looked nice?”

Zevran laughed. “If I had known she already had a beautiful partner, I wouldn’t have said anything,” he said, sincere. “But truly, I’m glad I did! This world of your’s is fascinating!” Morrigan seemed to have taken notice of the elf ears, laughing lightly.

“Truly nice to see we’ll be gaining an elf in our party! So far, we’ve everything but,” she sighed. “Qunari, dwarf, mage, warrior, you name it, but elves? Nope.”

“Our party consists of mainly Morrigan, Leliana, a guy named Alistair, and I, but there’s quite a few more players that we hang out with,” Redren added. “I will warn you, that most people there are social rejects or incredibly bored nerds, so be prepared!”

“I go to a school of the arts, Redren,” he chuckled. “I’m sure I’ll be fine!”

“All right, don’t we have work to do?” Morrigan clapped her hands. She went to the back, grabbing her latex staff off the table, along with a can of white paint and a large tub of glitter. Redren set to work looking for already-made armor with Leliana that they could adjust for Zevran’s size. As he worked on getting Zevran armor, he watched Morrigan in amusement as she dumped the light blue glitter into the white paint, and began to splatter-paint her staff. She loved cold magic, and she’d decided to make a new,  _cooler,_  staff. She was nice enough outside of Moondust, but Lord, was her character bitchy! It was endearing in a strange way, her cold personality working incredibly well with her winter magic.

As they were starting the chestpiece, they noticed the clock had hit four o'clock. Alistair arrived shortly, and after intoductions, had started talking about what types of weapons Zevran’d be good with. They eventually settled on dual-wielding with a dagger and a short sword. Leliana mentioned that she had some spares, digging out two of her previous weapons. Redren was busy embroidering little patterns on a pair of leather gloves. He’d learned the skill from Grandma Wynne, and enjoyed putting little curves of black string around the edge of the brown gloves. He was modeling them after Zevran’s tattoos. He couldn’t resist adding a tiny pink heart to the top of the right glove. Cute!

“So, when in battle, you have a certain amount of health and armor points, but since your character is a rogue, you’ll have less armor points than me, since I’m a warrior and I can wear heavier armor,” Alistair explained, a bright smile on his face. He was such a dork, and always happy to explain things. He rambled on about armor, repairs, and healing spells, with Zevran paying a surprising amount of attention. Maybe his love for acting was what compelled him to actually stick around. Regardless, his enthusiasm was appreciated.

“I believe your dog wished to be a part of this gathering,” Morrigan nodded her head toward the closed basement door. Faint little whines came from behind it.

“You’re not allergic, are you?” He asked Zevran before he let Dog in.

“I don’t mind dogs,” he shrugged. “I’m more of cat person, but feel free to let the little thing in if it so wishes.”

Dog bounded down the stairs as soon as Redren so much as cracked the door open, nearly knocking him down. Thank God for the door knob. He heard a slightly amused yelp as the eighty-pound boxer ran to Zevran, slobbering and drooling all over him.

“Oi!” Redren yelled, running down to grab Dog by his collar. “You do not act like that!” Dog still looked very happy, despite being scolded. “You will behave if you wish to stay down here, young man!” Dog whined a bit, lying down in defeat. “You know I don’t like yelling at you,” Redren shook his head. “But you must learn, you can’t be so forceful, you’re too big.” He took a deep breath. “Do you want to help me age up this cloth?” Redren grabbed a large wad of fabric, tossing it to Dog, who happily began to chew it up. That was his job.

“Never have I seen a man speak to a dog like that!” Zevran laughed. “Are you sure you’re not really a wizard that’s trapped the spirit of your child in there?”

Redren laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, he’s a good boy most of the time, but he never knows when to calm down!” He patted Dog’s head affectionately.

“So, what’s his name?” Redren heard Morrigan, Leliana, and Alistair snort at the same time.

“You’re all bullies, you know that, all of you,” he muttered under his breath. “His name is Dog.” Zevran snorted, too.

“Dog?” Dog perked up, staring at Zevran with the fabric hanging out of his mouth. “It’s unique, I’ll give you that!”

 

* * *

 

Eventually, eight o'clock came, and everyone said their goodbyes. Zevran’s outfit was held in his hands, a bright smile on his face. He was the last one out the door, as he’d stayed back for a moment after everyone had left. He folded it, and set the leather in his satchel.

“I’d like to thank you,” he said, looking up at Redren. “I, I’m very excited for this weekend. It doesn’t feel like I just met you. And if I can have my way, I’d like to do this again. I’ve, I’ve never had many friends, and,” he took a deep breath before finishing. “I’ve very thankful that you let me experience what it’s like, even if only for a couple of hours.”

“It doesn’t have to be just a couple hours,” Redren said, his face pink. “I mean, you're spending the weekend with us, and, uh, if you like it, I’m, well, I wouldn’t mind hanging out with you again.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“That sounds wonderful.” Zevran was beaming. His teeth were exposed when he smiled, and his tan cheeks were ever so slightly darker, a blush on them. “See you tomorrow. Seven am?”

“Don’t be late.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Zevran turned, walking down the driveway, looking back to wave one last time. Redren waved back. When he finally came back inside, he noticed his grandmother by the fireplace, shaking her head with a soft smile. Heading to his room, he couldn’t help but fall back onto his bed, his face on fire and a stupid grin on his face.

_I talked to a boy! I talked to a really pretty boy! I basically just asked him on a date! I talked to a boy and he liked me!_

_“I talked to a boy!”_  He breathed out, his chest rising and falling quickly. His heart was racing. Hugging his pillow, he imagined what the weekend would be like. Redren the mage was straightforward, he had no anxiety when it came to talking to people if need be. Could he talk to Zevran? His mind was clouded over with the question of how soft Zevran’s lips were. He let out a shaky breath. Those questions would have to wait for now. Perhaps he’d find the answers in Moondust. He  _hoped_  he’d find the answers in Moondust.

 

* * *

 

Seven am came around the next day, with Redren waiting on the couch in his robes, leg bouncing with anxiety.

“Redren dear,” Wynne chuckled. “You haven’t been so nervous for these in a very long time. How come?” She paused, but didn’t give him enough time to answer. “Is it because of the young Spanish man?” The smile on her face was a tell that she knew she was right.

“Yeah, but I’m mainly just nervous because he’s never been to one of these and he’s really nice and, and, ugh!” His stomach was starting to hurt.

“Now, I know you’re old enough where I don’t need to tell you to be careful, but he’s a handsome young man, so if things go further, please remember to use-” The doorbell rang and Redren shot up like a bullet.

“Loveyougrandmahaveagoodweekendbye!” He grabbed his small bag of luggage, his staff and his hat, Dog running out behind him, barking happily.

When he took his usual place in the second row of Morrigan’s van after putting his things in the trunk, he noticed how Zevran had taken Alistair’s seat. Alistair was now sitting in the back with Dog, not looking at all disappointed with the new arrangement. Leliana was in the passenger’s seat, and gave him a smug little smile.

“What did Wynne say that’s for you all red-faced?”  _Oh, how Redren loathed his pale complexion!_

“Nothing, so can we please get going?” 

“'Tis a three hour drive, poor fool,” Morrigan laughed, already getting into character. “And the Lady Leliana has her ways of persuasion!”

“And I have no tits to grab so I’m already immune to one form of torture you’re so fond of, Morrigan,” he laughed. She just tsked in response.

“Is this going to be another one of those drives?” Alistair groaned. “Zevran, are you straight?”

“Of course not,  _my dear,”_  he smirked, turning around to look at Alistair.

“You’re the only one I have, Dog,” he sighed, making the rest of them laugh.

“Zevran,” Redren said, “I haven’t mentioned yet how nice you look in that.” He could feel the tip of his ears heat up, and shifted his hair to cover them.

“Why thank you,” he smiled. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I couldn’t work out how exactly to put the ears on, so if you could…”

“Ah, of course!” He leaned over, and Zevran brushed his hair out of the way so that the extensions could slip on. “There you go.”

“Why thank you, and may I say your robe is quite nice as well.”

“This atmosphere of romance is going to suffocate me,” Morrigan sighed.

“Hey!” Leliana protested, giving her girlfriend a playful hit on the shoulder.

“Your mine so it’s different,” she drawled.

Redren didn’t protest Morrigan’s comment, not wanting to dig his own grave twenty minutes into the car ride.

Moondust LARP-ing community was about a three hour drive North of London, around Leicester. It was built on the farmgrounds of Alistair’s father’s old farm, which he had named Ferelden Farms. The land had been left to Cailan and his wife, Anora, who turned it into a tiny village of their own. Cailan was a couple of years older than Alistair, and has ended up inviting him brother to help him set up the little community. Over the nine years it’d been open, it had grown, so that there were about a hundred and fifty people every month, all camping on the grounds.

Cailan and Anora were the Crowned King and Queen of Ferelden, with Cailan being the one who kept up activities and campaigns while Anora did more of the behind-the-scenes work. As lovely as she was outside of LARP-ing, Anora played the stuck-up and cold Queen, balancing out Cailan’s outspoken personality. She was the one that suggested his execution, in fact. That’d been a fun weekend, in all honesty.

As the people in the car lulled into a comfortable silence, Leliana’s music filled the quiet and covered Alistair’s soft snores. It was pretty obvious he was the kind of baby that only stopped crying via car ride. Redren glanced at Zevran out of the corner of his eye, watching the other man gaze out the window, watching the countryside go by. The English countryside was always beautiful, much different from his native Spain. He had a soft smile on his face, the tattoos curving just as softly. The elf ears were just as cute, and look surprisingly natural on him.

 

* * *

 

When they arrived, unpacking their things from the trunk and shaking Alistair awake, they were greeted by Cailan. Well, King Cailan now. The King greeted his half-brother with a nod of the head and a handshake, formal.

“Greetings,” he smiled. “I am not often one for formalities as you know, but I see you have brought a new member. Is he of your order?” The King was referring to the ‘Grey Wardens,’ an order Alistair had created, in which he and Redren were the only formal members, the rest of their little party were 'allies.’ He’d created lore himself, speaking of it as a once proud order wiped out by an invasion of fearsome monsters. He’d been happy to allow Redren to join, since he didn’t have any friends in Moondust.

“This is Zevran Arainai of the assassination organization, the Antivan Crows,” Alistair said, gesturing to Zevran, who took a deep bow.

“Ah yes, the Crows,” Cailan nodded, a hand to his chin in thought.

“He was hired by a rival faction to wipe out the Wardens, but we defeated him in combat. He is now forever in our debt for sparing his life.”

“I am honored to be in your presence, King of Ferelden,” Zevran smiled, putting a hand to his chest. “I swear to serve the Wardens, my Lord, and by extension, you, if they so wish it.”

“An honorable man,” Cailan nodded. “I am pleased to welcome you to Ferelden, Arainai.” He turned to the rest of the group. “Now, shall we get going?”

They followed him down the winding trail from the parking area to the town of Moondust. It was truly something to see the difference between the modern world and the faux old. Zevran’s look of surprise was quite amusing to watch, and Redren couldn’t help but comment.

“Ah, the world of Ferelden is much different than that of your native Antiva, no?”

“Very much so,” he nodded. “As lovely as it seems, it’s much too cold and stinks of wet dog!” Dog whined at his laugh. “Now, assassinations and political corruption, that’s home!” They walked to the old barn that had been changed into a community guild hall, complete with a convincingly realistic electric candle and iron chandelier. Over the years, people had added to the hall, the druids, elves, and forest witches hanging potted plants from the rafters and arranging pots of magical incense on the tables that lined the walls. Healing crystals painted in glow-in-the-dark paint were arranged around the entire compound as well. At night, the forest had a soft glow to it as the rocks emitted their light and the fireflies danced around them.

After the introduction of Zevran was finished, King Cailan formally inviting him to Moondust, they headed out into the former cow field that’d been turned into an outdoor festival space, and housed the battlefield further back. They still had two cows, however, lovingly named Ondai, Giver of Life, and Seotayss, Lord of the Green. Zevran had found that fact quite amusing. Since it was still fairly early in the morning and the community plans weren’t laid out until one in the afternoon, they had time to find some of their fellow LARP-ers.

“It had brought a painted elf?” Redren heard Shale say from behind him.

“I have, and may I say it’s nice to see you again, Shale. I missed you last month!”

“There were pigeons on the way here, so I spent the weekend doing a service to the world.” She said, deadpan. Shale, or, out of character, Shayle, was a stone butch, gender-indifferent, towering, muscled woman. Her character was a tank of a golem, her face painted grey, matching her stone-like armor. She had some of the witches add in crystals, which gave her special magical resistance. Shale only referred to people as their defining feature. Or, instead of 'you,’ she said 'it.’ Shale used to be a dwarven warrior, but had undergone a surgery of sorts to become a golem. She did not regret it, as it made her much better than her inferior, squishy comrades.

“I am honored to be in the presence of such a beautiful warrior,” Zevran flirted. His character was turning out to be even more of flirt than his usual self. Redren wasn’t complaining.

“If by beautiful, it means strong, then I agree.”

“Why not both?”

“A truly unique creature, the painted elf is.”

“Thank you!” Zevran said, patting the golem on the arm.  _Lord, did he look tiny next to her!_ Shale wandered off in the heavy-set fashion of hers to speak with her fellow warrior, Sten. Nobody knew his name outside of the LARP, but the Qunari warrior was an  _amazing_ roleplayer. He never broke character, never smiling and always talking formally. The only time he broke character was when someone had asked him why he didn’t have horns, he simply replied with 'angered housecat,’ and  _never_ elaborated. He was an incredibly muscled and tall African man, with silvery white cornrows, and always wore red contact lenses. He said that he came as a sort of messenger for the Qunari, and stayed in order to observe how the foreigners lived.

“So, Zevran,” Redren asked, turning to his elven companion. “How do you like Ferelden?”

“It’s certainly unique, and I say that in the best of ways. And as much as I love Antiva, these people, many of them are quite pleasurable to look at!” He winked at Redren, making the mage pull his wizard’s hat over his eyes to hide him blush. Zevran laughed, and bumped his shoulder into Redren’s. “Are all mages so bashful?”

“Being raised by the Circle Tower of Magi, I have very little experience with flirts such as yourself,” he muttered. “And the elder witch Wynne wasn’t very willing to let her apprentices fool around with each other!” He was laughing, still embarrassed.

“I am not a mage, nor one of your lovely Wynne’s apprentices,” he said, teasing.

“You’re about three seconds away from being turned into a frog, Crow.”

“No I’m not,” he chuckled. “Assassins are quite good at detecting lies, you know. And you, my lovely mage, are enjoying this attention, aren’t you?”

“I cast a spell of silence,” Redren laughed, pressing a finger to Zevran’s lips. “It may only be removed when I say so.” Zevran dropped his jaw in mock betrayal, pressing a hand to his throat, falling to his knees.

_Curse you!_  He mouthed. Both of them laughed at his act, with Zevran putting a hand over his mouth to silence himself.

_God, am I enjoying this! Attention_ and  _flirting from a very handsome man!_

The Horn of Gathering sounded, summoning everyone to the barn. It was one of those plastic bugle horns, but Anora had painstakingly painted it gold, and had even sewn a banner bearing the royal crest to attach to it, so the thing looked really good.

Zevran took a seat between Redren and Alistair, Morrigan and Leliana settling in next to Redren.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and knights,” King Cailan started, standing up from his throne. A couple years back, a non-binary roleplayer joined, Ser Gilamore. Cailan had made sure to update his saying. “I bring unfortunate news this day. A horde of the undead had been spotted several miles to the north, and are likely to arrive at nine pm tonight. At sundown, all forces are to gather in the middle of the battlefield.” He paced down the middle of the hall, the gold chains decorating his armor chinking together as he moved. “We know not what has caused this invasion, but we will stop it. I have faith in you all, for we  _will_ triumph!”

Redren whispered an _'undo curse’_  into Zevran’s ear, allowing for him to whoop along with the rest of the hall. The King raised his hand for silence.

“Your Queen Anora has decided to organize an event in the hopes victory will be achieved. I grant her the floor.” He sat as the Queen stood. Her long, beautiful dress trailed along the floor as she walked the same path as her husband. She was a manager of a fabric store, granting her discounts to all the materials she needed to make the beautiful creations.

“In the hopes we are victorious in our coming battle, I have planned a ceremony for Sunday night. I understand that tomorrow is sacred to the witches, druids, and elves as the forest is said to breathe new life at the full moon. Therefore, I invite you all to partake in festivities of your cultures.” Her nose was upturned as she spoke. It was obvious Cailan’s character had twisted his wife’s elbow a bit to get her to say that last part. She was a very,  _traditional_ woman. King Cailan was a very open-minded man whereas his wife, not so much. The two rubbed off on another as the years went by, with Cailan becoming a better King, and Anora becoming a better person. The two had a great relationship both in and out of character.

“Now,” King Cailan said, standing next to his wife, “we prepare for battle! You have seven and a half hours to prepare, so I expect a sweeping victory!” A cheer rose up at the King’s words. “Dismissed!”

The hall emptied, with most of the folk wandering outside. Many of the wild elves headed back to the Dalish camp, where tents were set up and a campfire was being started.

“With me,” Morrigan called back, curling her hand in a gesture meant for Zevran and Redren to follow her. Alistair stayed behind to talk strategy with his half-brother. Leliana held the witch’s hand as they walked into the forest North of the Elves’ camp. They came to a tiny hut at the end of a winding dirt path. “I hope you fools appreciate the fact that the bard and I brought your things to the hut earlier.”

“Ah, yeah, thanks Morrigan!” Redren smiled shyly, remembering how he and Zevran had gotten so caught up in everything they hadn’t grabbed their bags from the van.

Dog barked in greeting, as he’d been staying by the hut for a while, likely taking a nap and re-marking his territory in the woods. Redren greeted the boxer with a pat on the head.

“So,” Zevran started, “I’ve had your Ferelden battle rules explained to me, but I wonder about this plan your King has. In the Crows, it is simply a target and an occasional deadline. Is that how you do things here or…?”

“In Ferelden,” Leliana explained, “the King briefs everyone on the battle strategy, but truly they lack the ability to follow!” The bard giggled. “War in Orlais was much more orderly, no?”

“And war in Antiva was just nobles hiring Crows to kill other nobles! A fine middle ground, this is!” Zevran said, nodding in approval.

“Redren, I have some potions to brew, and I require another mage. Leliana, I believe 'tis wise for you to train with the elf. You improve your skills while Redren and I improve his.”

“Don’t you mean 'ours’?” Redren asked.

“No, I am already better than anyone here. I have no need to improve. You, on the other hand…”

“Oh hush, witch!” Redren sighed. He saw Zevran’s lips quirk up at their banter.

Morrigan’s hut was another world in itself. Fake animal pelts hung from the walls, and wind chimes were hanging from the ceiling like stalactites in a cave. The whole place was a circle, only about eight feet in diameter. Alistair had helped her build it one weekend while the LARP wasn’t going on, and she’d been decorating it for five years ever since. Food dyes acting as magical ingredients were lined up along the shelves, and actual items of witchcraft were scattered among them. Crystals and pebbles were everywhere, and the drying herbs gave the place a strong, but pleasant, smell. Redren could spend  _hours_ in the place. Morrigan pulled a heavy book off of one of the shelves, thumping it down on the table. It was a book of Harry Potter potions with the cover changed to make it look like more witch-y. She flipped open to a potion of strength, and began to prepare the ingredients. Sure, it was technically tea, but here, in this little world, it was so much better.

“Light the fire while I prepare,” she said. Redren rolled back his sleeves and cast a fire spell, tossing a match into the tiny wood-burning stove. Morrigan ceremoniously cut off the tops of about five water bottles, pouring them in while chanting. Redren kneeled, presenting her with the box of teabags. She took them, a solemn look on her face as she dumped about six of them into the pot. “Now we wait,” she said, grabbing a wooden spoon and giving the pot a quick stir, repeating the process every couple of minutes.

Redren always enjoyed hanging out with the witch, even if her LARP character was a bit of a pain in the ass. Dog was barking outside, and the sounds of laughter from Leliana and grunt of mild pain from Zevran probably meant nothing good. Redren stayed inside to spare himself from likely seeing Zevran on the ground, an eighty pound boxer on his stomach.

Morrigan and him finished up about an hour later, all the potions put into labeled flasks. Redren wandered outside, and couldn’t help but observe the elf and the bard silently. The way Zevran’s body moved  to dodge the bolts from Leliana’s crossbow was mesmerizing. It’s obvious his time acting and his time at work had combined to make an amazingly flexible and agile man. Leliana was firing at him, a smile on her face as she kept him at bay, holding a dagger in her other hand. Her crossbow was a revamped nerf gun, painted and modified so it hardly looked like the original. Eventually, Zevran got in close, scoring four points before Leliana fell back, landing on the ground with an  _oomph._

“I’ve been bested once again!” She cried out, in a T-pose on the dirt. “Oh, hello.” She said, looking over at Redren.

“The lovely Leliana has been sparring with me, and I do believe she has underestimated my skills several times over,” Zevran laughed. “Let this be known: the Crows’ training is not one to underestimate!”

“Yes, I’ve gathered that by now,” she sighed. “It’s what, two thirty now? Zevran and I are a bit winded, not to mention I’m at about 1 hp right now, so we might want to take it easy for a bit.”

“Here,” Redren sighed, walking over to the woman 'bleeding’ on the biggest floor. “I cast a _spell of full healing_  to Leliana,” he said, raising his staff. She sat up, breathing out heavily.

“Thank you, my good mage,” she smiled.

“Zevran?” Redren asked. “You’ve got any cuts?”

“Ah, yes I believe one of her bolts hit me about here,” he pointed to the side of his stomach. Redren pressed his fingers to Zevran’s side, muttering a small healing spell. “Is all magic so intimate?” He questioned, raising an amused eyebrow.

“Gross,” Morrigan spat as she walked out of the hut, two trays of flasks chinking together. “Leliana, be a dear and take one of these off my hands.” Leliana happily did as she was asked. These little tasks never failed to earn her favor in battle. Redren stayed back, watching the two walk off, Leliana bouncing as she stepped and Morrigan scolding her.

“Well,” Redren started, turning to Zevran. “Would you like to help me put war paint on him?” He pointed to Dog with his thumb, who stuck his tongue out and barked.

“Sure,” Zevran said. “What’s it do? Or is it simply to make him look cool?”

“The paint,” Redren called back as he grabbed it from inside the house, “improves his attack, as it’s enchanted to give him buffs in battle.” He brought out  the red paint. “Just dip your fingers in and go ahead.” They spent the next couple of minutes swirling the war paint on the boxer’s brown fur, Dog’s tongue happily hanging out of his mouth.

“A fearsome war hound indeed,” Zevran nodded, admiring their work. He’d given Dog a similar set of curves on his chest, so that their tattoos matched.

“Indeed,” Redren echoed with a soft chuckle. “We’ve got quite some time before sunset, so-” He was cut off by the growl of Zevran’s stomach. “Food?” He laughed.

“That sounds like a good idea!” They started walking back to the main area, Dog on their heels. Several of the Druids, nymphs, and forest witches paused their flowercrown making to wave at the odd little trio, one of them tossing a stick to Dog, who happily took the gift. They always spent much of the day before battle partaking in nature rituals. Flowercrowns could be enchanted to prevent all sorts of magical damage or to improve nature magic. All sorts of things.

They walked into the tavern, _Silver Lake,_ and sat down at the bar. The bartender, Rehael the Angel, handed them both goblets of water, which were always on the house.  _Silver Lake_ stood by a small pond,  _The Silver Lake,_  about two hundred feet from the barn.

“Nice 'ta see ya again, kiddo,” a man next to Redren said. Redren looked to his left, and then quite sharply down to see the man that spoke. Oghren looked up at him. The man was a fellow roleplayer who had hit the nail pretty hard on the head when he decided to roleplay as a dwarf. He was an actual dwarf, standing at 4'6”. He’d joined the LARP about two years ago, looking for something to do when he wasn’t doing yardwork. His wife leaving him was what made him actually go look for something to do with his time, and help wean him off of alcohol. He’d been getting better with time. “Ah, an elf!” He growled, looking at Zevran.

“Is this where we re-ignite the age old dwarf/elf rivalry?” Zevran said, taking a sip of his water.

“At least you look pretty itsy, so I think I could take ya,” Oghren shrugged. “Just watch your back, you pointy-eared little weasel,” he wiggled an accusing armored finger.

“Will do, my fine dwarven friend!

“By the stones,” Oghren sighed, the two massive red braids of his beard swinging as he shook his head. He took a sip of his one-quarter-beer-seventy-five-percent-water. Many other patrons came and went from the place as Zevran and Redren ate a late lunch. Rehael struck up a conversation with Zevran, asking the elf all about his former home. Zevran was incredibly good at staying in character, and talked about Antiva and the Crows as if he was actually there. He was constantly animated, and didn’t hesitate to flirt with the bartender. Oghren scoffed at his display, staying true to his standoffish and constantly annoyed character. His giant latex waraxe strapped to his back wobbled as he swung his feet, since they didn’t reach the floor.

Redren was enjoying listening to the two talk while watching the patrons all around him. His character was certainly one who didn’t let anybody escape his sight, making sure to know everyone’s strengths and weaknesses. Just in case. A Cousland came in, his noble aura protruding from every pore in his body. He was pleasant enough once you got to know him, or so Redren was told. The nobleman didn’t exactly like the mages. Or the nymphs, druids, dwarves, or elves. Most nobles seemed to be like that. There weren’t many of them Moondust, as only Cailan and Anora’s good friends could rise to such a rank. They stayed in the Castle, which was a renovated farmhouse. The place certainly looked like a little castle, and was very nice to look at.

“Redren?” Zevran elbowed him gently in the side, making the mage nearly drop his staff. “You ready to head out?”

“Ah, yeah, sorry, was thinking about… stuff.”

“Oh, what kind of stuff?” Zevran smirked at Redren as they stepped out of Silver Lake. “Dirty stuff, I hope.”

“Please stop being so Antivan,” Redren sighed. “And for the record, I was thinking about everyone around here. About how to defeat them if I need to.”

“Ooh, such useful information for an assassin!” He pushed his shoulder against Redren’s arm, looking up at the mage. “Why don’t we find a good place to discuss such things?” His sly smile was not missed by Redren.

“For you,  _things_ mean more than any normal person would assume. Thankfully, I am no normal person, Zevran Arainai.”

“Ah, no fun, you are!” He cried out, laughing. “But I still do wish for you to inform me of these notes you take. As someone in your service, I should know all I need to to protect you, no? My Warden, surely you understand what an advantage that would be!”

“Fine, fine,” Redren sighed, giving in to the elf. “I shall teach you most of what I know.”

“Most?”

“Keeping secrets makes me feel more powerful,” He shrugged. “And do you ever plan on, well, leaving my side, or were you secretly hexed in the Tavern?” Redren was glaring down at Zevran, who was all but glued to his arm.

“An assassin thrives in shadow, my dear,” he said lowly. “And that wide-brimmed hat of yours provides much of such a thing.”

“Lord,” Redren muttered. “One would think an Antivan such as yourself would be accustomed to the sun.”

“Oh, I am,” he chuckled. “I just like being so close to you, Redren.”

“Oh.” Redren blanked, letting his character take over his short circuiting brain. “Remind me why I saved your life, again? Lord, elf, you’re far too much for me to handle!” Zevran gave him a smile full of false innocence. “Hush,” Redren laughed, putting a hand on Zevran’s head and ruffling his hair. Zevran let out a gasp and hastily fixed his hair, putting the little braids back into place. He must’ve done them before they picked Redren up. _Did Leliana do it? She’s good with hair._ They looked very cute.

 

* * *

 

It probably took a good couple of hours to talk about all the people Redren could remember off the top of his head. Of course, he’d gotten off track about a dozen times, and had even started recalling a time about a year ago when Cailan had given the elves full reign for a weekend due to them staging an uprising the month before. They’d been tired of not being able to practice their magic in public, and the final straw had been the arrests of an entire little camp of elves for growing oregano, which they called Elfroot, without permission from the King and Queen. They’d argued about how it was all contained in pots and such, but the Queen had not been lenient. He had a feeling the King was still trying to get on the non-humans’ good sides. He hardly noticed how long they’d been talking.

“Ferelden certainly has a fun history,” Zevran commented, giving Dog absent-minded pats on the head.

“Do you have any sorties of Antiva?” Redren was curious about what he’d come up with.

“Oh, my turn is it?” He leaned back on his arms. “What is it you wish to know of Antiva? The Crows? The women? The men?”

“What about the Crows? Surely you must have stories about such an infamous group.”

“Why of course!” He took a deep breath, a lazy smile on his face. “The Crows are known all throughout Antiva as the most reliable group of assassins, as well as the most expensive. They keep their, shall we say, workforce, well fed and  _entertained,_ even if it’s the guild masters making the  _real_ coin.” He sighed. “A gilded cage it is, lovely but confining. Sure, killings are fun, but freedom, that’s much better. But now that you have removed me from that life, I’m not sure what to do, what should I take advantage of it for?” It was obvious he was simply switching up some details from his life in Spain as a sex worker. He didn’t look upset by it, more indifferent if anything. Of course, he could be lying, keeping a blank face and staying in his fairly aloof character, but Redren couldn’t pick up on it.  

“Well, you’re certainly welcome to stay by my side.” Redren said, a faint blush on his cheeks. “I have reason to believe you’d be quite useful.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” he smiled, leaning forward. “And soon, you’ll be begging to be rid of me!”

“If it comes to that, I have quite a few spells for, shall we say, an effective disposal?”

“Sounds fun!” Zevran went on for a while more, casually building up his world and character, talking about how he’d always wanted to get to know the wild elves. He’d grown up in  _Antiva City,_  and had never gotten the opportunity to see the Dalish.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the chirping of birds and insects providing background noise.

“Zevran?” Redren asked after a couple minutes of quiet.

“Yes?”

“I have no idea what time it is.”

“Neither do I,” he laughed, looking up at the sky. He held a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. “But it seems we’ve been here for quite a while.” The sun was nearly starting to set.

“Let’s see,” Redren thought, “we left the tavern at what, quarter to four? It must be nearly seven now!” Zevran and him laughed in shock. “God, why did you let me ramble on so long? Truly you can’t find Ferelden stories that interesting to let me go on like that.”

“Maybe.” Zevran shrugged, and leaned forward to press a finger to Redren’s chest. “But I find  _you_  very interesting.”

“Bloody flirt,” Redren scoffed, looking away to hide his embarrassment. “Truly, you tempt me to use a silencing spell again.”

“You like my voice too much,” Zevran said. “Or else you wouldn’t have have let me go on for so long.”  _Point taken._

“Shouldn’t we start heading back? If the King wants us at the battlefield starting at sundown, that means we’ve got about an hour and a half.”

“You’re quite dedicated to the rules, my dear mage.” Zevran remarked.

“Do you think I’m so dedicated because I wish to be? No, it’s more of a debt I owe to this place than anything.”

“A debt?”

“Why don’t we talk while we make our way back? We can take a longer route if you wish.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Zevran said, standing up. “And I think I really need to stretch my legs before battle, as it’s never good for an assassin to have his leg asleep in combat!”

“Seems wise to avoid that, yes,” Redren said with a soft laugh. “Come on, Dog,” he added, the boxer getting up happily. His stumpy little tail wagged as the three walked down the rock-lined paths.

“You mentioned something earlier,” Zevran said a couple minutes into their walk. “I’d like to hold you to your promise to explain.”

“I was hoping you’d forget,” he laughed shyly.

“A Crow remembers, my dear, best keep that in mind.”

Redren took a deep breath. “Back in The Circle, I was always treated differently. I wasn’t allowed to be what I was, blood magic isn’t exactly something people find endearing.”  _What a thinly veiled metaphor, dumbass,_  he chastised himself. “So I had to hush everything, keep my head down. Alistair was a Templar, a prominent guard type order that made my life a living hell,” he laughed without humor. “I thought he was going to be like the rest, but he offered me a chance to escape. He got me out of that place one weekend a month. Right under the Head Witch Wynne’s nose, too!” Zevran was staring at him, with unusual silence. “This place really saved me, you know,” he rested his staff on his shoulder. “It’s special like that. Gives all sorts of people chances to be what they are, whether it be a Blood Mage or an assassin. I really think I owe Alistair my life, so I’m honored to fight alongside him, no matter what.”

“I see,” Zevran said quietly. “I have no story like your’s but I do believe this has been, good for me. After all, I met you, no?”

“That you did,” Redren smiled. “I can certainly say that we have met.”

“And you’re back to being a pain in the ass,” he laughed. “It’s endearing!”

“It’s likely nearly eight and we’re yet to get back is what  _it_ is.”

“Oh, the rumors that will be spread! A several hour long rendezvous in the woods is worth talking about, isn’t it?”

“Hush it!” He gave Zevran a swift little hit with his staff.

“You wound me! May I have a healing spell, please?” He put a finger to his cheek, batting his eyelashes jokingly.

“You’ll regenerate that health in a minute, you baby,” he waved his hand dismissively.

“Aawwee! Am I your  _baby_ now?”

“In need of constant supervision, incredibly tiny, wounded so grievously by a minuscule hit? Yes, you are an infant.”

“You’re an angry little mage!” He was shaking his head, flipping a dagger absent-mindedly. “Honestly, releasing a bit of that pent-up tension could benefit us all.”

“Bloody Antivans,” Redren muttered.

 

* * *

 

They managed to get to the battlefield about thirty seconds before King Cailan did, standing in the back eating two ham sandwiches they picked up from _Silver Lake._ Cailan went into a a speech about the dangers of Necromancy and unsupervised magic, and that Maria, the only practicing necromancer, was to be executed tomorrow morning. This would be her eleventh execution in two years, since she had enchanted herself using necromancy. She let out a whoop as a guard carried her in the fireman position to the shame cage.

“We will try to deal with her,” he sighed. “As I was saying, those with ranged weapons are to stay behind the fence and funnel the undead through the gates. I require two mages to stay and guard the Guild Hall. Rogues are to attempt get behind the horde to backstab, and warriors are to attack head-on.” He raised his sword. “For Ferelden!” The crowd echoed his chants. There were about seventy people in the field, and sixty waiting in the forest. Twenty people were non-combatants, staying behind to guard their shops. Alrael of  _Silver Lake_  was a healer, and one of the most valuable in battle. His darker completion gave him higher stealth at night, making him able to sneak past enemy lines to revive the fallen. His glitter-covered black deadlocks were always a sign of God’s favor in combat. The troops were given a couple minutes to do any last minute preparations.

“Hey!” Alistair called out, waving to Redren and Zevran.

“Nice to see you, my friend,” Zevran smiled.

“Don’t do that with me, assassin,” he frowned. “I went to the witch earlier since I couldn’t find you two anywhere, and she said you two had been in the woods for hours! What on Earth were you  _doing?”_ Zevran grinned, and Alistair quickly retracted his statement. “You know what, nevermind. What mages and elves get up to in the forest by themselves is  _not_ something I need to know.”

“Alistair!” Redren whisper-yelled. “It wasn’t anything like that!”

“I can’t believe a fellow Grey Warden would doubt my skills of perceptiveness so much!” He faked hurt.

“Alistair, Zevran’s being Zevran.” He deadpanned. “Please don’t take anything he says like that with complete faith.”

“Wounded again!” Zevran sighed, leaning with his back against Redren.

“You two are way too much for me to handle,” Alistair said. “I’m glad you’re heading up and I’m staying back with the warriors!” He walked off with a laugh.

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?” Redren laughed, looking down at the elf slumped against his side.

“And if I did, I wouldn’t have picked the assassination job, and I wouldn’t be here with you right now.” Zevran looked up at Redren, who’s mouth was opening and closing, unable to form words to respond. Thankfully, he was spared the need to respond by the sounding of the war horn.

“Let’s go,” Redren said in a relieved exhale. Zevran seemed to forget the exchange in a heartbeat, excitedly running side by side with Redren to engage in combat. Every one of the “undead” had red glow necklaces around their necks, a sign of the magic reanimating them. They had ten health points each, making them a bit tougher than regular players. Redren took his place behind the fence, crouching down and waiting for the horde to get within range. He saw Zevran darting among the trees, ducking behind one and facing Redren. He flashed the mage a wide smile, Redren happily returning it. He heard footsteps behind him, and saw Leliana approach, crouching next to him.

“Bonjour,” she greeted, chugging one of Morrigan’s offensively strong potion-teas. It made her shudder and gain a small bonus to defense. She was already more resilient than Redren, as she wore actual armor, and he only had a robe to defend himself. Mages weren’t the best with armor, though Morrigan was making an active choice to basically flash her tits to the enemy. The stun effect did work, so he gave her credit for that.

Soon enough, the undead were within range, and since the sun had set, they were easy to spot. Oghren and a couple others were heard activating their Beserker abilities, war cries ringing out across the field and carrying into the forest. Redren felt himself falling into the familiar rhythm. An initial hit with the staff: 1 point. A spell of gore: 2 points and 1 point bonus every hit afterward. Dodging, nearly tripping. Another jab with the staff: 2 points. Halfway down. A spell of paralysis and another hit: 2 points. A spell of manipulation, causing the paralysis to wear off, and the target to harm themselves: 3 points. The fellow combatant fell to the ground in defeat. He gave a quick wave to his foe and ran off to heal anybody calling for assistance. The process was repeated many times. He saw Alistair and Oghren fighting near each other, with Shale and Sten not too far behind. Leliana was firing off bolts next to Morrigan, and Zevran was darting between the enemies, weakening them two points with a backstab so that the warriors could finish them off.

 

* * *

 

After the battle, everyone but Maria was called to the Guild Hall for an after-battle speech. Redren zoned out for most of it, his eyes slowly looking around for Zevran. The elf was nowhere in sight, so he assumed he was stuck behind someone of an average height. Eventually, Cailan stopped talking, and Anora dismissed the players.

“Finally,” he heard Zevran say from behind him. “I was stuck behind some human, and I do not appreciate being hid behind a wall of flesh,” he paused, adding, “clothed flesh, that is.”

“So,” Redren asked, pulling out a chair next to him for the elf, “how was your first battle in Ferelden? Different then Antivan assassinations, I take it.”

“Oh, it was great!” Zevran was beaming, leaning forward on his chair, his hands pressed into the seat between his legs. “The opportunities to backstab were everywhere, and the chaos! Oh, it reminds me of the time The Crows were hired to take out half of a royal family! Now that was a bloodbath,” he sighed in fond memory. “Nothing like a good bloodbath, eh?”

“I completely agree,” Redren smiled. “I always enjoy battle, it really gets the blood pumping, doesn’t it?”

“It  _does!”_ Zevran said, exhaling. “So, I presume we’re sleeping at Morrigan’s hut in the woods, yes?”

“It may be cramped, but yes,” Redren said, a bit of a grimace on his face. “We,” he sighed. “We may need to share a bedroll.”

“How every great story starts, no?”

“I am begging you not to get any ideas.”

“Too late, my Warden, too late.”

“I assumed as much,” Redren laughed. “Shall we get going? Magic really drains me,  _especially_ the blood magic I was using.”

“What kind of magic is that?” Zevran asked, looking up at Redren. “The Crows, we rarely have magic-users, so I know very little of such arts.”

Redren launched into an explanation of how blood magic worked, lasting a good couple minutes. They had gotten about twenty feet into the forest when Zevran stopped, staring ahead. The path was lit softly by dimly glowing stones, giving the forest floor a winding green river. Redren couldn’t really appreciate the view, however, as he was transfixed with the way the fireflies’ yellow lights reflected in Zevran’s honey-coloured eyes. He didn’t even notice when the other man’s eyes shifted to look into his own until he blinked.

“Sorry,” he sighed.

“What are you apologizing for, Redren?” Zevran’s soft smile sent a wave of nausea through Redren’s stomach.

“Nothing, old habit,” he shrugged. “Most people don’t appreciate strange looks from strange mages.”

“I am not most people,” he laughed, turning back to the path and walking ahead. Redren had to jog a bit to catch up. They eventually made it to Morrigan’s dwelling, where a small campfire had been lit. Morrigan and Leliana were in their nightgowns, sitting on a log. Dog seemed to have followed Leliana back, as he was asleep a couple feet from the fire.

“And they finally return,” Morrigan said, not looking up from the fire. “I’ve been waiting for you two. Leliana insists waiting up for you fools.”

“That I do, yes,” she laughed, looking up at Zevran and Redren. “I wanted to make sure you were coming back, and not spending more _time in the woods.”_ She smirked. “Reminds me of Orlais,” she sighed fondly. Redren as thankful for the dark as it helped hide his blush a bit.

“Unfortunately our lovely mage has not only a sick for magic, but one up his ass, as well,” Zevran lamented, making Leliana giggle.

“Don’t worry, eventually they come around. Right, dear?”

“Please remove your hand from my thigh, bard, before I turn you into an actual brainless songbird.”

“Why don’t you two go get changed into your nightclothes? Just tell us when you’re done.” Leliana shooed them inside.

Zevran started stripping the second the door shut, not giving Redren enough time to breathe. The man’s chest was clean shaven, matching his arms and legs. His tattoos also seemed to not be limited to his face, as they stretched around his body like serpents. He shook his head, undoing the think brown ribbon that held his robe together. He undid the two buttons that held the sides of the fabric together as well, holding the robe together loosely with his hand as he reached into his backpack to grab his nightclothes. He turned away from Zevran and slid on the long pair of brown pajama pants, allowing the robe to slide off before he put his white tank top on.

“And here I was hoping for a show,” Zevran lamented as Redren turned back around. The man wore nothing but a pair of short, very short, shorts. He was sadly removing his elf ears, as they were unfortunately uncomfortable to sleep in. He set them on the side table that he’d placed his armor on. “Back in The Crows,” he stated, “nobody ever changed in front of each other, as the most vulnerable a person is is when they’re in the nude. A shame you have no such trust,” he tsked.

“I’m not falling for that, assassin,” Redren laughed. “And here,” he took off his shirt, tossing it to Zevran. “Please be decent. If not for me, then for the women.”

“A fine compromise, my friend,” he nodded as he slipped the top over his shoulders. It was slightly large on him length-wise, covering up to the very ends of his shorts. Redren opened the door and nodded his head to the girls, indicating that they were changed. Dog was asked to stay outside, as Morrigan did not want him in the hut. Morrigan took her place on her bedroll, Leliana following suit, squishing herself up against the unamused witch. Redren laid down on the floor, and scooted over to make room for Zevran. Not that there was much room to make, though.

He could feel Zevran pressing into him, heating his left side up like it was on fire. He’d never shared a bed with anyone else, a bit of sad thought for someone in their early twenties, but still, the feeling wasn’t all too welcome. It was hot, the fake fur blanket heating the bedroll like a sauna. He stared at the ceiling, and knew Zevran was doing the same. The only light was from an electric tea candle that rested on a high shelf on the other side of the hut, ten feet away, since the campfire had been doused before the girls came in. He could hear Zevran’s breathing slow down, an indication that he was falling asleep. Leliana was already out cold, and Morrigan hadn’t been long after her. Despite the discomfort he’d previously felt, Redren started to enjoy lying next to Zevran, and he felt himself being soothed by the man’s steady breathing. His eyes started to feel heavy, and before he knew it, the world faded softly to black.

 

* * *

 

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was that he was in a  _completely_ different position. He’d started off on his back, and now he was on his left side. His right leg and arm were wrapped around Zevran, in what was likely an incredibly right grip. He had also managed to shift  _up,_  so that Zevran’s head was nestled underneath his own. All in all, a very cuddle-y position. _Shit._

“Now now, no need for such language,” he jumped when Zevran spoke, right out of his previous position.

“I am  _so_  sorry!” He apologized, his face red.

“No no,” Zevran laughed, sitting up. “It has been a while since I’ve shared my bed with another, and never so innocently!” His tone was both mocking and sincere.

“Well I, for one, am very happy I didn’t end up like your previous bedmates,” he sighed.

“Ravished by a very beautiful Antivan elf?”

“Likely dead, judging by your career.”

“I suppose one never came without the other,” he shrugged. “But since I am now serving you, I can assure that you’d only get the one.” He stood up, stretching, and Redren couldn’t help but notice how  Zevran was wearing his shirt, and about how it rode up slightly when he stretched, exposing a tiny bit of his toned stomach. “Staring, are we?” Zevran laughed.

“That killing you offered sounds very nice.”

Zevran just chuckled, getting into his armor. Redren followed suit, almost not noticing how he mindlessly started changing without being so nervous. He pulled on his robe, and was nearly ready to drag Zevran out of the hut since he was taking a  _very_  long time, when he felt him arm being grabbed.

“And where do you think you’re going? Perhaps this is a Ferelden mage thing, and I’m being culturally insensitive, but as I’m supposed to be serving and protecting you, I cannot allow you to go out of this place without your hair brushed!” He shook his head in mock dismay, grabbing the brush from the table and gently shoving the mage to the floor. He started at the ends, holding Redren’s long ginger hair as he worked through the knots that had managed to appear while he was sleeping. As he worked, Redren felt himself slowly leaning back, relaxing into the other man’s touch. He didn’t say anything, but Redren could tell Zevran was enjoying his reaction. “Done.”

“Ah,” Redren ran a hand through his hair. “Thanks.” He glanced over at the wall clock, which claimed it was already eleven.

“It was my pleasure,” He smiled. “And based on your facial expression, it was your pleasure, too.”

“Let’s just get going.”

“Lead the way,” Zevran bowed, putting on his ear extensions.

 

* * *

 

The day was in all honesty, a blur. King Cailan staged another execution for Maria, who laid down on a slab for about ten minutes before she sat up and went to the tavern for a drink. Anora gathered everyone in the hall for another speech, starting the celebrations, and begrudgingly allowing the magic-users to use magic. Redren and Zevran met up with Morrigan, Leliana, and Alistair, and decided to simply have a good time, eating and watching Leliana break out her recorder and show off her bardic skills. They all sat and watched her, Zevran being the most interested. He had known she was a music student, but Leliana had a gift for recorder covers for basically anything. She was a strange talent all in herself.

The day flew by, like all other Sundays seemed to. The moon had come out, hanging big and bright in the night sky. It was full, and the sky was perfectly clear. Out here in the countryside, the stars were in full view. Many of the witches, wizards, and other magic users were performing ceremonies. He wasn’t a big part of such things, and as a blood mage, he wasn’t big on nature magic. Morrigan was messing around with Leliana, prodding her with her staff, making the bard giggle.

He got so swept up in everything, he hardly noticed Zevran’s hand on his shoulder.

“Would you mind talking to me for a moment?” He didn’t wear his usual carefree smile, so Redren wasn’t sure what he was feeling. “I promise it’s not anything bad,” he said, reassuring Redren with a hand on his shoulder.

“Alright,” he agreed. “Would you like to go somewhere more private, or…?”

“That would be appreciated, yes.” Zevran grabbed Redren’s hand, and hoped the other man couldn’t feel how nervous he was. Zevran took him back to the forest, where it was dark enough for only the glowing rocks to be visible underneath the cover of the the trees. The moon lit the area, soft rays of light dancing as the trees swayed in the slight breeze.

“What,” Redren started. “Uh, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“I wanted to offer you my gratitude,” he said, looking down for a moment. “I’ve had,” he paused, and looked up at the taller man, “I have had so much fun.” His smile was wide. “I wanted to thank you, for making all this possible for me.”

“No, no, it was really Leliana. You, you shouldn’t be, you shouldn’t be thanking me,” Redren said, stumbling over his words.

“But you could’ve easily told her no, that you didn’t want anyone else in your group,” he countered.

“But-”

“Oh hush,” Zevran laughed. “Can’t I just say thank you? If anything, simply for being so sweet to me.” Redren wasn’t sure what to say, and he didn’t have to. Zevran stood up on his tip-toes, gently grabbing the back of Redren’s neck to pull him down. He placed his lips on Redren’s, and kissed him. Redren’d never been kissed before, and he could hardly think. It wasn’t a  _fevered exchange,_  or  _heavy,_ or  _passionate._ It was just, soft and  _incredibly_ romantic.  _What else to expect from an Antivan?_  He thought, closing his eyes and pressing a hand to the small of Zevran’s back.

Eventually, Zevran pulled away, breathing fairly heavily. Redren was sure he was, too.

“If that wasn’t wanted,” he started, looking apologetic, “I’m incredibly sorry, but I-”

“Oh don’t worry,” Redren cut him off, laughing a bit to hide his excitement. “That was not unwanted!”

“Ah, good!” Zevran said, letting out a relieved breath. “You just looked so shocked, I wasn’t sure!”

“Well, I mean, I’ve never really been kissed before, so…” Zevran looked at him like he was insane. “Are you kidding m-” the sound of a dog barking cut him off.

“There you two are!” Alistair called out, jogging to where they were, Dog on his heels. “It’s getting late, and… wait, what are you two doing?” He squinted, looking at them in the low light.

“Is it such a crime to want to get to know your fellow Grey Warden better?”

“You know what? I don’t want to know. Morrigan and Leliana have already packed stuff up, and I was sent to retrieve you for the closing, which is in like, ten minutes.”

They followed him back to the field, where King Cailan was standing on a wooden box, Anora on the grass next to him.

“I thank you all for coming,” he began, a smile on his face. “It has been an amazing weekend, and I hope to see you all next month! We are incredibly thankful for the turnout, and I hope we only continue to grow!” Anora took the makeshift stage, breaking character to smile.

“And I would like to say, that regardless of magic ability or race, you all contribute something to make this place special,” She put a hand to her chest. “And I thank you.”

Everyone eventually dispersed, heading back to their cars. Morrigan and Leliana came over to where Zevran, Redren, Aliastair, and Dog were, holding backpacks, including Alistair’s, which he’d left with them when he went to find Zevran and Redren.

“Time to head out,” Leliana sighed. She led them back to the van, tossing their things into the back. Morrigan once again took the wheel, as not only was it her mother’s van, but she was the only one who could stay awake reliably the whole way back.

“So,” she started, looking in the rear-view mirror at the rest of the people in the back, “how was your first LARP, my elven companion?” Zevran launched into an excited explanation of how much he loved it, that he had an amazing time, and that he’d be honored if they invited him back.

“Of course we’ll invite you again!” Leliana laughed from the passenger seat. “You were very fun to have along!” She looked back to where Alistair was, raising an eyebrow at the mildly concerned expression on his face. “What’s up, Alistair? Got something on your mind?”

He took a deep breath. “Redren and Zevran were shagging in the woods!”

“Alistair!” Redren yelled, more shocked than upset.

“I’m so proud!” Morrigan laughed. “Finally!”

_“Morrigan!”_

“Losing your virginity at a LARP? Wonderful!”

“I did  _not!”_

“Awww, a shame,” Leliana sighed. “I thought we were one in the same, there!”

“What?” Redren and Alistair said at the same time, making Zevran suppress a laugh.

“What? I had a beautiful witch offer me a  _dark ritual_ in the woods, and I accepted! Had a great time, got a girlfriend and a permanent plus three health!”

“So that’s where that bonus came from…” Redren muttered.

“You know, my lovely Morrigan, you’ve given me an idea,” Zevran said before he was quickly shushed by Redren’s hand over his mouth.

“Don’t.” He narrowed his eyes. “Lick this hand all you want, I don’t fear it. I’ve had that mouth on my mouth.” Zevran’s response of  _good point_ was muffled.

Eventually, they all fell into quiet, the hum of the van as it drove through the night calming.

 

* * *

 

The next LARP was amazing. As was the next, and the next, and the next. He and Zevran had officially become a thing, and he couldn’t be happier about it. Dog truly was the only one Alistair had now. Redren had worked up the nerve to give Zevran the pair of Dalish leather gloves he’d embroidered. Zevran wore them all winter long. Their whole little group had been invited to one of Zevran’s theater productions, and Redren couldn’t have been a prouder boyfriend. He could tell that the Live Action Role Playing had helped, as his character tame through in every line. And God, did he look good! How Redren had managed to snag someone like that, he’d never know.

Grandma Wynne had been supportive, and if anything, too supportive, saying things like  _It’s a changing world!_  or _I’m so happy you could find someone!_ General happy grandma things. Zevran made sure to visit him almost every morning, sitting at the barstools and watching Redren wait tables. Redren had even visited Zevran at  _his_  job, although such an experience wasn’t exactly good for his more innocent heart.

All in all, they were very content to be the nerds they were.

**Author's Note:**

> So, made it through, did you? Sorry, this was a loooong one. I guess I go buck-wild on au days, who knew?


End file.
